


Seven Percent Stronger

by breakingwho



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Jealousy, M/M, PWP without Porn, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-27
Updated: 2013-09-27
Packaged: 2017-12-27 18:03:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/981971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breakingwho/pseuds/breakingwho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John joins a dating website and Sherlock isn't too happy about that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seven Percent Stronger

**Author's Note:**

> sorry for any spelling or grammar mistakes! I was going to have a friend look over it but after taking forever for me to just write it, I got impatient and just really wanted to upload it oops

If anyone were to walk into the upstairs flat of 221B they'd instantly sense the tension. John was sitting at the wooden table in the sitting room with his laptop open and his focus entirely on whatever he was taking his time typing.

Sherlock was perched on the sofa, knees up to his chest and his laptop balancing on them. His typing speed was efficiently quick, fast ticks coming from his keyboard as his fingers transfered what was in his head to the screen.

Soon the ticks from both keyboards became agonizing to Sherlock and he glanced at John who was using a total of two fingers to stab at the keys.

"John."  
Only the stabbing ticks were what he got in response.  
Sherlock huffed, closing his laptop and tossing it on the cushion next to him. He straightened his knees so he was standing on the couch before walking on and over the coffee table towards his flatmate.

Sherlock then stood behind John and leaned down to his ear.  
"John, what are you doing." He squinted at the screen. 

John startled, feeling Sherlock's breathe suddenly on his ear.

"What- nothing." He slammed the laptop closed. "Nothing, why?" 

Sherlock straightened, glaring at his friend who started tapping his fingers on the table.

"John...was that a dating website." 

John sat there, pursing his lips, eyes darting to every object on the table.

"John."

"Yes." He turned to look up at Sherlock. "Yes alright. It was." He cleared his throat.

Sherlock stared down at John for a very uncomfortable thirty seconds before pivoting on his foot and almost stomping away and into his room.

John licked his lower lip, watching Sherlock's bedroom door. He didn't hear another sound for about a minute so he turned back in his chair, opened his laptop, and continued tapping away.

\-----

It wasn't until the following morning that Sherlock reemerged from his room, his feet heavily hitting the floor and a knuckle rubbing the corner of his eye. Sherlock blinked a few times, unblurring his vision before scanning the sitting room. John was dressed and relaxing in his chair by the telly and chuckling to himself.

No. Chuckling at his laptop.  
No.. /Giggling / at his laptop.

Sherlock heard John giggle before but only at something witty he's said. Sherlock, obviously, hasn't spoken a word yet. He continued to scan the room only to lock on to the contents on the table.

The usual newspapers, books, notepads, and pens. Something was out of place. Something missing.

His tea.

"John, where's my tea?" Sherlock padded over to the table, swiping two finger over the spot his hot mug should've been sitting and cocked his brow at the other.

"Hm?" John glanced up then down then up again at Sherlock, realizing what he asked. "Oh. I didn't make you tea."

Sherlock's jaw tightened.

"Listen, Sherlock I'm sorry I just forgot. I didn't even make myself tea." 

A small 'blip' interrupted them and John's focus was on the screen in front of him once more, a faint smirk and shake of the head as he typed something.

Sherlock contemplated what he could do next.  
He could make himself tea. But he couldn't be bothered to.  
He could confiscate John's laptop. He could surprise him somehow.  
Anything to have John's focus back on him.

Instead he retreated to his room to put proper trousers on, grabbed his coat and left the flat without saying a word to John.  
And vise versa.

It was still fairly early in the morning, hardly eleven. The air was a crisp chill with not much breeze for once. Still, Sherlock flipped the collar of his coat up, overlapped the sides in front of his chest instead of buttoning it up, and dropped his nose into the warmth of the heavy cotton wool.

Now, where does John go when he storms out of the flat?  
A pub probably. He can't be bothered with that either. He could visit The Yard. Stop by and talk to Lestrade. Maybe distract himself by snogging the life out of him.  
But no, those days were gone.  
Lestrade would probably never allow it.  
Oh well. The only other thing that came to mind was to indulge in something strong. Not tea. Because right now he needed something stronger. About seven percent stronger.

He hailed a cab and set a destination about 4 miles away from baker street.  
It only took close to twenty minutes to be dropped off. Conveniently, by a tobacco shop. Sherlock entered and grabbed three packs of menthol cigarettes, placing them on the counter.

"Can tell you haven't had a smoke in a while, yeah?" The older, shorter and fatter man behind the counter said as he rang up each pack.

"What makes you say?" Sherlock grabbed two of the three packs and shoved them in his pocket and began tearing at the one to open it.

"I can just tell. You're pretty much ripping open that poor thing for one and you're vibrating with anxiety to light one up. Been a while, yeah?"

With a cigarette now balanced between his lips, he smirked, lighting it up. "Good deduction. It's been almost three months." He took a long drag in, closing his eyes and holding the smoke in his throat until it stung and exhaled a generous cloud into the shop.

"Must feel nice, finally taking a long deserved smoke." The man chuckled and started cleaning the glass counter.

"'Long deserved'?" Another drag.

"Yeah. Something's botherin' ya. Seen no one open a pack like that unless they stressed or very cross about something or someone or both."

"I'm not cross. Or stressed. Just," his brows furrowed. What was he. Upset? Confused?  
"...bit not good." He replied, mostly to himself since his voice lowered almost to a whisper.

There was a clang and a ring and both the men's attention was drawn in that direction. Another costumer. Sherlock took advantage of that and slipped out of the shop. He flicked the barely remaining cigarette to the ground and pulled out another one.

Instead of getting another cab, Sherlock began walking towards Baker Street and not a mile in of walking he was lighting up a third cigarette. 

Half a pack later, Sherlock turned the key to the flat that he shared with a man that was full of surprises. A man who makes the best calming tea. A man who still has those occasional nightmares caused by PTSD and seeks Sherlock in the middle of the night to relax him and loll him back to sleep. A man who Sherlock developed sentiment towards.  
And a man who's hooked on that dreaded dating website.

How could he be so thick. So stupid. He thought John was supposed to be the one with enough common sense to realize when someone was showing sentiment towards another.

For months Sherlock has been fighting that feeling.  
Sentiment.  
Just the thought of it made his face twist with distaste. It was a weakness. Disadvantage. Exhausting. A distraction. The list goes on.  
But it was only the second case they went on together did Sherlock start noticing things about John. Well, he's always noticed things about John but it was the normal stuff he'd deduce about people. No, these were deeper than that. When at anyone else he'd give a glance and know everything. For John, he /stares/ because a glance isn't enough. At times it felt like he was going to choke on the butterflies he'd get whenever John swiped that damned tongue over his lips to wet them. It's something John does too often. And too often does Sherlock want to pinch that pinkness between his fingers and have himself a taste...

Sherlock shed his coat, hanging it and grunted at how annoyingly silent it was. He liked silence, save for his own voice filling the space, but this silence was uneasy. It was the silence that implied he was alone. An all too familiar silence to him.

John had obviously gone out. To find him, maybe?  
No. Earlier he was completely dressed and was sporting his "date shoes."  
It's only been a little over an hour since Sherlock left the flat. John didn't even protest. Why didn't he protest? Sherlock /always/ protested when John stormed out.

Sherlock let out an agitated huff and shoved his hand into his trouser pockets to check his phone.  
Of course, if only he had a phone on him in the first place.  
Puzzled, Sherlock spun around the room to find his mobile on an end table. He unlocked the screen and was shocked to find over ten unopened text messages.

He clicked on the messaging icon and it directed him to a thread of texts. All from John.  
'Where have you gone off to?'  
'Sherlock answer me.'  
'Why were you so bothered this morning??'  
'Sherlock??'  
'You better not be smoking'  
'For fucks sake answer me!'  
And they went on in a similar attitude. 

Sherlock was about to reply with a similar question to what John first texted until he heard a faint squeak of old wood. He padded in that direction, slipping the phone into his pocket this time. He ended up standing outside his room, a hand cautiously wrapped around the knob. He turned it, silently cursing himself for not being quieter about it but proceeded to open his door.  
The first instinctive place to look was always his bed. And was he shocked but pleased.  
Very pleased.

There lied a John Watson curled on top of the sheets with his phone by his hands which were tucked under his cheek. Typical sleeping position, but peaceful. Sherlock quietly stepped further into his room and shut the door. He stood at the foot of his bed, watching John's belly inflate then deflate at a very controlled rate. Which meant he was calm. In Sherlock's bed. John Watson was about as relaxed as a baby in Sherlock's bed.  
Now that said something to Sherlock. And it also made him glow with a closed lipped smile.

Keeping his feet flat on the floor, he tilted his body to the left to peek at his flatmates bum. Perfectly round as his position accentuated the shape of it. And, oh, another pleasant surprise. Poking out from the hem of his jeans were bold red pants.  
Sherlock loved when John wore those. He always spotted them when John would kneel during cases, balancing on the balls of his feet to allowed Sherlock a perfect view.

After a swallow, Sherlock walked, heel to toe, around the bed to appreciate John's back. A slither of fading tan was noticeable and Sherlock's mouth went dry at the thought of having that exact patch of skin being trapped by his tongue and teeth to leave a mark.

Sherlock drew his lower lip between his teeth and reached a hand towards John. He had to, okay. He just had to. His pulse must've been loud enough for Mrs. Hudson to hear downstairs as the tips of his fingers brushed that exposed skin. They then flared out so his palm could get a feel, too. That hand ran up and under John's jumper and felt a nagging jolt behind the zipper of his own trousers as John's body reacted to the chill of Sherlock's hand and arched.

John's breathing faltered, but not enough to indicate he was awake. 

One of Sherlock's knees bent and rested on the edge of his bed so that his hand had more of an opportunity to explore. A small gasp that shocked even Sherlock himself escaped as the pads of his fingers traced over the raised tissue of John's scar. Oh, he had to look. He had to feel more. He wanted to do more than just feel it. He wanted to taste it. To give it comforting kisses and the kind of adoring attention he bets none of his other lovers dared to give it. He wanted to raise goosebumps from John's flesh and make him shiver and whimper his name all from Sherlock giving attention to just one spot. The one spot that'll let John know how much Sherlock loves every inch, every hair and mole, molecule and atom on him.  
How much Sherlock has craved John since the beginning.

"Sherlock..?"  
Sherlock tore his hand away, almost leaping back from the bed. For once in his life, he was at a loss for words. There was nothing he could possibly say to get around this. He's ruined everything. He should just help John get a head start on packing. 

John's eyes almost doubled in size as he watched Sherlock shrink into the corner of the room. He could see it in his eyes that Sherlock was retreating. Building ice around himself for protection. To save him the hurt he's expecting. John could see all of that happening and leapt off the bed to the man in the corner before he completely lost his friend. 

"Sherlock, don't." Palms cupped the sides of Sherlock's face, a thumb stroking one of his prominent cheekbones. "It's okay." 

Sherlock practically melted into John's touch, his eyes fluttering shut. Those two words were all he needed as he let John guide his face closer until their lips connected. They slipped into place like long missing puzzle pieces that finally found their places. 

Sherlock's hands found John's hips and his fingers dug into them as if he was keeping John from this awful force that would separate them, that would take his warmth away and John seemed to understand as he shifted his hips closer, indicating he wasn't going to be let taken away.

Their lips peeled apart, staying an inch close still, just to breathe. It was like magnets with their eyes as they kept staring at each other. 

"It's all fine." John spoke in a hush and wetted his bottom lip again before colliding with Sherlock's, making the kiss a bit more sloppy than the last.

"Yes." is what huffed between their lips before Sherlock walked John backwards until the wooden frame of the bed caused him to fall on his back. No hesitation came from Sherlock to crawl right on top of John and force now both his hands under that ugly jumper.

Meanwhile John's hands clung to Sherlock's arms, running them soothingly up and down as far as his short arms would let him.

"John," Sherlock breathed, fingernails now dragging down the length of John's torso. "John, I need you. I need you."

As Sherlock began to kiss John again with more tongue and teeth than anything, he could feel how strong Sherlock was aching. How his need was a hunger. A hunger that if it wasn't fed he'd wither away. How long had Sherlock been holding back? Christ, this was unhealthy. Sherlock would never get his fill and John knew it would soon blossom into something aggressive, borderline animalistic.  
And John felt a hop in his stomach. One that released excitement and giddiness for days like that to come.

John sat up, his knees and thighs on either side of Sherlock's hips as Sherlock hoisted John onto his lap. Their hips instantly began grinding into each other and John's head bowed so his forehead was resting on Sherlock's.

Sherlock craned his neck to connect his lips with John's and rolled his tongue around the inside the other's mouth. John groaned, hands traveling up to entangle themselves into Sherlock's soft, loose curls. 

John's brows furrowed as his hands then traced down the man's neck and to his fingers defeat, hit fabric.

"Sherlock," he pulled apart, letting Sherlock give a sloppy peck before John continued. "There's just...too much clothes."

Sherlock grinned. A smug, hunger driven grin that gave John a reminder about where it felt like all his blood was rushing to. "That can be easily fixed." 

Sherlock flattened his hands on John's chest and shoved him on his back again. He landed with a blunt gasp which was quickly replaced by a throaty moan as Sherlock began to palm his erection through his trousers. John bucked his hips up, following Sherlock's hand as it was removed to decrease the amount of clothing he had on until Sherlock was in nothing but his pants. Tight, black boxer briefs which absolutely made his porcelain skin glow. It was a beautiful contrast that had John begging.

Sherlock knelt on the edge of the bed, looking John all over and John knew he was planning. Or plotting. No one ever really knew.

Before John could demand dominance, Sherlock ran his hands up John's jean covered thighs and back down, chuckling as his hips rolled against his hands.

"Sherlock, please. If you don't remove my damn clothes-" Before he could finish his threat, Sherlock went through with an unspoken one. He slapped John clean across his face. John looked baffled, red faced with sweat forming, and an expression Sherlock was all to proud to get out of him.

"Don't think you're getting what you want so quickly." Sherlock shuffled on his knees to be closer between John's legs.

"Sherlock wha-"  
Another slap, only across the other cheek. John shouldn't have been as aroused at that as he was right then.

"Oh, don't tell me you have no clue, John. Please, don't be so dull." 

It hit him. Almost literally... The dating website he's been using. Sherlock was jealous. Jealous. Sherlock. It all clicked. The moodiness, the going missing and, that bloody fucker, the scent of smoke. Sherlock should be the one being punished. But that can be for another time because right now John was revelling in the burn from Sherlock's slaps.

"I deleted my profile."

"When?"

"This morning." John propped himself up on his elbows.

"You were giggling-"

"At a comment on my blog."

A pin could have dropped and been perfectly heard at that moment. Sherlock felt like an idiot. Letting emotions get to him like that. Now he was angry. Mostly at himself but he was also still very aroused and very much craving himself an ex-army doctor so he gripped John's face with one hand and leaned in to his ear.

"John Hamish Watson, I am going to fuck you senseless."

John's reply was a pleading whimper. He's never heard Sherlock use strong swear words before. Especially in relation to sex. But it certainly didn't help how painful his erection was starting to feel.

Sherlock pulled away to make quick work of John's belt and zipper. His jeans were practically torn off and tossed over his shoulder then Sherlock was slouching over those glorious red pants, mouthing John's cock through the fabric.

John's hands flew back to those curls and tightened their grip.

"Oh, Christ, Sherlock please." It was mostly John pleading for his dignity to not come in his pants like a teenager but Sherlock didn't let up.

Though, Sherlock eventually got the message when John painfully yanked at the curls which made Sherlock bite the inside of his thigh before releasing John's cock from it's confines. 

One of those perfect violinist hands thumbed at the head of John's cock and spread what pre-cum beaded at the slit and used it as lubrication to slick it down to the hilt, pulling the foreskin back.

There was a sharp intake of breath from John and a groan as he lifted his head to watch Sherlock's magic with his hand and also catching him stroking himself under those boxer briefs. It wasn't until Sherlock completely removed John's pants and began using his mouth that John's eyes rolled to the back of his head and he flopped flat against the sheets again.

"Oh, god that is perfect." John barely breathed, bucking his hips to further insert himself between those pink lips. 

Sherlock hummed at the taste and wonderfully lack of breath from practically deep throating John. Because breathing is boring. His hands felt around, one tracing through the trimmed, rough hair that crowned John's cock, and the other pushing it's way inside of him.

Sherlock must've slicked his fingers with something because him entering the first ring of muscle wasn't as painful as he'd imagine. But then his finger was entirely inserted and was thrusting in and out in all different angles each time.

John bit the back of one hand as the other dropped above his head. He was unsure of how to move his hips with being stimulated both ways and just ended up letting his body take complete control which was random, jerky hip movements.

"Sherlock, please." John choked.

Sherlock, for the second agonizing time, pulled away, releasing John's cock and removing his finger.

"Fu- Sherlock that's not what I meant." John reached up to grab at whatever he could of Sherlock, but the man's reflexes kicked in and Sherlock caught his wrist and forcefully pinned it against the bed.

"I know what you mean, Dr. Watson." His baritone voice, blanketed with arousal which made it sound deeper and raspier, caused a shiver to spike through John. "Keep your hands where they are. Do not. Move." 

Sherlock slowly peeled away as if, if he'd done it too quickly, John's hands would pop away from the bed. Those pale fingers pushed at the hem of his pants and shimmied them down just enough to release his cock, which gave an appreciative twitch against the musky air.

If John were to be honest he'd never thought in a million years he'd be underneath this brilliant, childish, but sexy detective flatmate. He gasped when a blunt coolness suddenly pushed inside him. Sherlock had retrieved proper lubrication and it was just like to him to catch John off guard. He wasted no time and began scissoring John open with two fingers. It felt uncomfortable and foreign at first but when Sherlock starting stroking John lightly and kissing the inside of his knees, he smiled with a sigh at how gentle Sherlock was suddenly being.

But just as suddenly his gentleness turned to cruel teasing.  
"Sherlock I swear to god if-"

"You and your god." Sherlock chuckled, withdrawing his fingers to line the head of his prick with John's fluttering hole. He exhaled slowly, one hand soothingly rubbing John's thigh as he pushed himself through that pink ring of muscle.

John threw his head back against the mattress, emitting a lengthy, hot moan. Sherlock smiled and groaned at John's reaction, his stomach pleasantly flipping at the sight of how beautifully debauched his army doctor looked. Giving a final thrust for his cock to be completely engulfed, Sherlock leaned down to reunite their lips.

The burning sensation that John had clenched his jaw at dissipated when he felt those perfect, plump lips press against his. He almost too eagerly kissed back, elevating his head a bit so his tongue was able to roam the entirety of Sherlock's mouth. He could faintly taste himself and the staleness of what cigarettes Sherlock smoked earlier. That bastard. John lifted his upper body, placing a hand on the back of Sherlock's neck to assure he doesn't break the kiss and used what shaking strength he had to push Sherlock on his back.

"Always trying to prove your dominance, John. It's quite adorable." Sherlock grinned one of those shit eating, egoistic grins that John frowned at. 

"I don't need to prove anything, you git." John flattened his hands against Sherlock's chest and rolled his hips, putting his head back and gave another moan. Sherlock closed his eyes, hands now gripping at John's hips and gave a thrust that startled John and made him jerk up. 

John growled, raising a hand to bring it down across the detective's face, but before any contact was made, Sherlock had grabbed John's wrist, giving him a 'tsk, tsk' and swiftly brought John's fingers to his mouth to suck on them. All the air in John's lungs seemed to leave as he watched Sherlock greedily treating his fingers like they were lollipops, hollowing his cheeks and pressing his tongue against the slightly callused pads.

Sherlock slipped John's fingers from his mouth and returned his hands to the other's hips and began thrusting. John moaned and rested his forehead in the crook of Sherlock's neck and did his best to accommodate with Sherlock's thrusts. They soon got an even rhythm going which made John have to bite Sherlock's shoulder when he came, spilling between both their chest and stomach. 

"Oh fuck, John." Sherlock gasped, slapping harder into John as heat coiled in his groin. "John, I'm gonna-"

"Don't pull out." John sighed, sitting up to grind himself deeper against Sherlock. "I want you to come inside me. Come for me Sherlock." 

John tried to suppress a grin as he heard Sherlock chanting his name under his breath as he released himself into John. There were a few lazy thrusts to calm his orgasm but then Sherlock went limp, almost melting into the mattress.

John slipped Sherlock's prick out of him and showed his grin this time.

"What're you smiling about." Sherlock mumbled, eyes in a sleepy droop.

"Because you were jealous and we just had an amazing shag." John slumped on top of Sherlock so his right ear was pressed against his his chest and listened to Sherlock's quickly relaxing heart rate.

"Was not." Sherlock draped his arms over John's back still.

"'Was not' to the shag or-"

"The jealousy thing, John. Obviously. The sex was great."

John rolled his eyes, not bothering to argue with Sherlock about jealousy and gave his neck a kiss instead.

"Well, I'm glad our feelings are mutual." Is all that John sighed before rolling next to Sherlock and letting him cuddle against his side, wrapping one arm around Sherlock's shoulders and the two dozed off.


End file.
